02-24-2017, 02:04 PM
i wrote this on my phone so sorry for mistskeasss
"It is late," she agrees, finding the concern on the girl's face and in her gentle voice quite touching. "But I rather like the stars." And she does, but she rarely looks up at them anymore. They are shielded from her by the thick canopy of Sylva most nights. Here they are visible, and in the few other forests, and above the pool of black water whose moisture still clings to the ends of her coppery tail.
She flicks away her tail and her thoughts and tells Luster that: "I'll be fine. Just thinking; it's easier to do at night." There's a question in her gaze, but it's a simple one - rhetorical. There is less going on when the sun falls, less rushing, less racing, less responsibility.
Perhaps there should be more responsibility, she thinks as she twists her head to free it of cricks and feel the pull of bruises she'd not noticed before. They span the length of her neck, remnants of a stallion's grip that match the hoof scrapes along her sides. She hadn't wished long enough, Djinni realizes.
But she is not alone to deal with the the aftermath anymore; she has Luster to distract her. She refocuses her attention on the girl's face, watches the confusion mar her pretty expression and reaches out without thought to brush it away. The gesture is soft and fleeting, for she pulls away quickly at the pang of memory of her last such touch.
"I've had them for a long time." She replies, "As long as I can remember." There's no harm in her origin story, she supposed, it's just not told too often. "I was not born alive. My mother made a deal to return the life to my body from what had taken it, and these are a reminder of that. These and...other things." There is a purposeful mystery to the trailing off of her words; she does so love suspense.
Luster asks about a girl named Rora, one that Djinni doesn't know. It does sound like something Arrya might name her child though, so the chestnut mare assumes that must be who Rora is. "I don't know her, but I know her mother." She replies, unconsciously emphasizing the generation between them. "Though I'm glad she was able to tell you about Sylva. It's wonderful here." And it is, it really is.
Djinni follows Luster's gaze to the stars and watches them for a while as well, thoughtlessly shifting back to her pied grullo coat as she does. She is asked how long she has lived here, and she answers: "Maybe a year or so?" She's never been good with seasons and telling time, and there's something stirring inside her as proof. "Stillwater would know. I brought him with me." Her tone is light, thoughtless; he seems the type of creature to track time. He considers himself trapped here, surely he carves the days into his cave like a convict. The idea of that amuses her. Not masochistically so: she simply enjoys the idea of him grumbling to himself in the darkness.
"It is late," she agrees, finding the concern on the girl's face and in her gentle voice quite touching. "But I rather like the stars." And she does, but she rarely looks up at them anymore. They are shielded from her by the thick canopy of Sylva most nights. Here they are visible, and in the few other forests, and above the pool of black water whose moisture still clings to the ends of her coppery tail.
She flicks away her tail and her thoughts and tells Luster that: "I'll be fine. Just thinking; it's easier to do at night." There's a question in her gaze, but it's a simple one - rhetorical. There is less going on when the sun falls, less rushing, less racing, less responsibility.
Perhaps there should be more responsibility, she thinks as she twists her head to free it of cricks and feel the pull of bruises she'd not noticed before. They span the length of her neck, remnants of a stallion's grip that match the hoof scrapes along her sides. She hadn't wished long enough, Djinni realizes.
But she is not alone to deal with the the aftermath anymore; she has Luster to distract her. She refocuses her attention on the girl's face, watches the confusion mar her pretty expression and reaches out without thought to brush it away. The gesture is soft and fleeting, for she pulls away quickly at the pang of memory of her last such touch.
"I've had them for a long time." She replies, "As long as I can remember." There's no harm in her origin story, she supposed, it's just not told too often. "I was not born alive. My mother made a deal to return the life to my body from what had taken it, and these are a reminder of that. These and...other things." There is a purposeful mystery to the trailing off of her words; she does so love suspense.
Luster asks about a girl named Rora, one that Djinni doesn't know. It does sound like something Arrya might name her child though, so the chestnut mare assumes that must be who Rora is. "I don't know her, but I know her mother." She replies, unconsciously emphasizing the generation between them. "Though I'm glad she was able to tell you about Sylva. It's wonderful here." And it is, it really is.
Djinni follows Luster's gaze to the stars and watches them for a while as well, thoughtlessly shifting back to her pied grullo coat as she does. She is asked how long she has lived here, and she answers: "Maybe a year or so?" She's never been good with seasons and telling time, and there's something stirring inside her as proof. "Stillwater would know. I brought him with me." Her tone is light, thoughtless; he seems the type of creature to track time. He considers himself trapped here, surely he carves the days into his cave like a convict. The idea of that amuses her. Not masochistically so: she simply enjoys the idea of him grumbling to himself in the darkness.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster